


ill-bodied.

by winonasawyer



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Sickfic, Vomiting, not too much angst though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29331555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winonasawyer/pseuds/winonasawyer
Summary: and then gwendolyn moves to the bed; carefully arranging herself around mildred’s burning body- and hugs her close. she breathes in mildred; all of her sickness and fears and trauma- and doesn’t leave.(mildred actually starts crying at that.)
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	ill-bodied.

**Author's Note:**

> hey y’all. i just wanted to do my own version of a sick fic. i know there is no shortage of mildred ratched sick fics- so make sure to go check those out when you have time! 
> 
> just as a warning- this fic contains vomiting, so if that makes you uncomfortable; please don’t read. i want to make sure y’all stay safe, okay?

-

mildred was a lot of things; but sick was not one of them. 

it didn’t matter that she was feeling faint and little black spots were clouding her vision or that every step she took felt as if tons of brick were attached to her ankles. it didn’t matter that vomit was slowly crawling up her throat; painting her insides yellow with acid. mildred ratched was not fucking sick, and she wishes so badly for gwendolyn to see it- instead of trying to force her some soup. 

she tells her as such; and a small little crinkle forms between gwendolyn’s brow. there’s a smile on her face, but it’s dim and barely more than a simple quirk of the lips. (mildred thinks she should feel guilty, but all that’s running through her head is exactly how not sick she is- so why should she feel guilty for gwendolyn wasting her own damn time?)

“you’re burning up.”

god, the concern is practically dripping from her words- and mildred hates it. something weird and foreign and horrible rests in her mouth when mildred sees the way gwendolyn clenches her fists; white spreading over her tight flesh. she wants to tell gwendolyn to stop worrying about her; but the gross feelings in her throat have turned to cotton and the idea of talking is now a labor. instead, she just turns her head; letting her limp hair fall in her eyes. 

“mildred, did you hear me? you’re burning up. i need to get a cool rag.”

the soup rests on the coffee table; steam comes off it and disappears into the open air. it’s easier to focus on the soup than gwendolyn’s eyes- so that’s exactly what she does. 

(she knows the soup was chicken; little pieces of it floating in the broth. she had watched gwendolyn making it; chopping up herbs and throwing in spices and hiding where her knife had nicked her. mildred had bitched and moaned the entire time, because even if her throat was raw and her chest broke out in hives- she wasn’t sick. 

gwendolyn didn’t believe her, and thus the soup sliding down her throat.)

a hand is smoothing down her hair. mildred wants to bite it off. 

“we’ll get that fever checked out in no time, okay, love?”

mildred doesn’t answer.

she just watches the steam and soup and hopes gwendolyn will forget about her for a few hours; just until the fire under her forehead fizzles out.

(she’s not sick.)

-x-

the hot toddy is warm and thick when it pools into mildred’s stomach. it tastes horrible, and her disgust shows on her face. 

“i know it tastes bad, but it will help. i promise.”

mildred glares. gwendolyn laughs; tired and still so fucking concerned. on the radio; a man is singing. his voice is all low and sad- like he sings of times bitter and tainted with heartbreak. mildred lets the crooning lyrics wash over her, and little black words deep into her skin.

“i’m not even sick, gwendolyn,” her voice is hoarse and scratchy, but mildred intends for it to be firm. “you don’t need to give me this.”

gwendolyn raises a brow, mildred knows she’s about to call bullshit. (she hates that.)

“you were 101.3 degrees when i first took your temperature. you’re sick, mildred.”

anger pooled in her gut at the blonde’s words, and mildred’s glare intensified accordingly. she wanted to claw and spit at the woman; to punch at her until she left her alone. she wasn’t sick; and gwendolyn’s kindness was like a hot iron poker stabbed straight in her chest. 

“it’s warm in here; that’s all. i’m not sick, and i certainly don’t need you to-“

whatever she was going to say was cut off as a rush of vomit and sick slamming in her mouth. mildred stumbled up; stars exploding under her eyelids as she tried to make her way to the bathroom, lest she hurl all over the carpet. she thinks gwendolyn is trying to help her; but her touch burns like acid and gwendolyn never feels like that- so mildred screams a little because she’s scared and doesn’t know how the fuck is touching her. 

“mildred-!”

don’t touch me, she wants to scream. her head is pounding and her head is racing and she feels so wrong- but somehow she manages to thunder into the bathroom: chunks of throw up blasting into the toilet bowl. she chokes and gasps, but the vomit is unrelenting and painful; and she’s pretty sure some of it is red like blood. 

“fuck,” she gasps, a splatter of primary colors flashing before her eyes. she’s sure her nose is bleeding from the force of it all, and the red falls in the toilet as well. sweat is rubbing down her forehead; but she’s so cold, and her body is shivering with every hurl. too warm hands are pulling her hair back; clenching it softly so that it won’t fall. 

“that’s it, baby. i’m here; you can let it all out. oh, millie, you’re really sick, huh?”

and because mildred is a stubborn idiot; she feels disgust wrap around her heart. (she’s not sick, she can’t be sick; but oh god- she really feels like it.)

when her stomach is empty and she has nothing left to vomit; mildred rests her head on the coolness of the seat. she knows of the bacteria that the seat brings; but she’s so fucking tired and she can’t get her muscles to move. 

(she’s so damn tired.)

-x-

mildred hates gwendolyn. 

she decides this as the woman helps ease her into the half filled tub; pink bubbles standing proud in the water. she’s also decided that she shouldn’t hate gwendolyn. it’s just that she has to. 

because gwendolyn cares for her, and mildred’s never felt that before. 

gwendolyn is running her fingers through mildred’s hair; massaging the foamy shampoo deep in her scalp. she’s so gentle as she does it; humming quietly to fill the room with something other than mildred’s heavy breathing. when she cleans away the blood and snot on her face- she does it so softly that mildred questions if she did anything at all. 

she isn’t sure if gwendolyn knows she hates her. the woman is lightly wiping down her chest; not even trying to be sexual- simply trying to clean her flushed skin. suds are sticking to her flesh; and mildred feels ill with all of the feelings sitting plump in her chest. she stops humming to whisper and coo at her- hoping to soothe the naked woman.

mildred thinks it’s bullshit. she knows gwendolyn’s bullshit, and knows it well. 

mildred finds herself red in the face because she’s crying over how much she hates gwendolyn when the woman is brushing her hair later. 

and gwendolyn doesn’t say a thing.

-x-

when mildred was little; she never got sick. 

well, that’s not completely true. she got sick like any other kid got sick. her mama (now a blurred face that hurt to remember) would feed her aspirin and crackers- rub some vaporub on her feet and swaddle her in warm blankets until whatever ailment she had went away. 

before her dad was killed; he would read her stories; silly and short when she got sick in the stomach. he would brush her hair down; and say, “you a strong girl, millie. you stronger than a little ol’ cough.”

later, when she had no daddy to read her stories or a mama to feed her crackers; mildred stopped getting sick. at the orphanage; you were forced pills and tranquilizers until you were all doped up and stupid so the only thing you could do was sit and look cute so that maybe someone would adopt you. there were no warm blankets or soup- you got sick and you felt it. 

edmund had been sickly. his ribs showed when he stretched, and he always seemed to have a cough that just wouldn’t go away. mildred had snuck him tea with honey, and continued to even after she was caught and beaten blue because of it. she would help edmund; even if that was all she could do- because she understood. (if she got sick; she pushed it down and down and down because she knew there would be no soft touches here. only slaps; burning yet still so cold against her cheeks.)

when she got older and worked as a nurse in the army; she would be surrounded by sickness. bodies were crammed together like sardines; all sweaty and gutted and eyes as blank as dead fish. the stench of disease seeped into her clothing, tainting the very air she breathed. there, she couldn’t just get sick. too many lives lost; the staff already small as it is. she couldn’t afford to fall ill; so eventually, she just stopped getting sick in the first place.

(none of that shit mattered now; because she was feeling fucking horrible and her head felt teak seconds away from exploding. she had no use for knowing how to hide a cough or a sniffle- not when her nose and throat were on fire.

she was fucking sick. goddamn it.)

-x-

gwendolyn doesn’t go.

she pulls a nightgown over mildred; and when the brunette whines about being cold- she wraps her in a blanket with so much care that mildred almost starts crying in the spot. 

she heats the soup back up for mildred; and she feeds it to her even though mildred’s not a fucking baby- she can do it herself thank you very much. not once does she call mildred weak; even when she throws up again and bleeds red from her nose. (mildred doesn’t know what to make of that.)

mildred feels stuffed; full of tissue and medicine. it should make her rage- how could she have fallen so far from dignity?- but her head is all fuzzy and all she sees is gwendolyn; and it feels so fucking good. she wants to question why the woman is even doing this in the first place; but she doesn’t trust her tongue to ask. (did it fatten in her mouth? why did it feel so thick and swollen? mildred feared the answer.)

“gwendolyn?” the effort of speaking was torturous; but somehow mildred managed. she was still floating in a world of only black- so she couldn’t see how gwendolyn’s brow furrowed in concern. 

“yes, love?”

“will you hold me, please?” 

gwendolyn had never seen mildred so small; so childlike in her very nature. it was a bit scary; if she was being honest, but her heart warmed at the sight nonetheless. (if this was how mildred got when she was sick; all fragile and misty eyed- gwendolyn would bask it in with open arms.)

“sure, baby. you never have to ask me to hold you.”

and then gwendolyn moves to the bed; carefully arranging herself around mildred’s burning body- and hugs her close. she breathes in mildred; all of her sickness and fears and trauma- and doesn’t leave. 

(mildred actually starts crying at that.)

-x-

mildred ratched is a lot of things; and being sick was one of them. 

(but that’s okay; because now she has gwendolyn- and gwendolyn would be there to nurse her back to health.

always.)

-

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment or a kudos if you liked this <3


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